Why does everyone always want you to make so many choices? Pizza or burgers, swimming or a movie, one friend or another, yes or no. For Rollo Wingate, who’s always been the biggest guy in school, sometimes it’s easier to relax and let someone else take the lead. After all, when he and his two best friends get together, they’re always on the same page—which is probably why he goes along with it when the other boys target Valerie Michon at school. Every time they see her, bad things just . . . happen. At first it’s just a taunt here, a tiny insult there. But things keeps escalating, and finally, the situation turns into something much worse.
Rollo knows that a line has been crossed, and he struggles to make sense of how things could have gone so wrong so quickly. Maybe for the first time, he’s going to have to figure it out for himself.
Why does everyone always want you to make so many choices? Pizza or burgers, swimming or a movie, one friend or another, yes or no. For Rollo Wingate, who’s always been the biggest guy in school, sometimes it’s easier to relax and let someone else take the lead. After all, when he and his two best friends get together, they’re always on the same page—which is probably why he goes along with it when the other boys target Valerie Michon at school. Every time they see her, bad things just . . . happen. At first it’s just a taunt here, a tiny insult there. But things keeps escalating, and finally, the situation turns into something much worse.
Rollo knows that a line has been crossed, and he struggles to make sense of how things could have gone so wrong so quickly. Maybe for the first time, he’s going to have to figure it out for himself.
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Overview
Why does everyone always want you to make so many choices? Pizza or burgers, swimming or a movie, one friend or another, yes or no. For Rollo Wingate, who’s always been the biggest guy in school, sometimes it’s easier to relax and let someone else take the lead. After all, when he and his two best friends get together, they’re always on the same page—which is probably why he goes along with it when the other boys target Valerie Michon at school. Every time they see her, bad things just . . . happen. At first it’s just a taunt here, a tiny insult there. But things keeps escalating, and finally, the situation turns into something much worse.
Rollo knows that a line has been crossed, and he struggles to make sense of how things could have gone so wrong so quickly. Maybe for the first time, he’s going to have to figure it out for himself.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781497670884 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Open Road Media |
| Publication date: | 05/19/2015 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 219 |
| Lexile: | 630L (what's this?) |
| File size: | 928 KB |
| Age Range: | 12 - 17 Years |
About the Author
Norma Fox Mazer (1931–2009) was an acclaimed author best known for her children’s and young adult literature. She earned numerous awards, including the Newbery Honor for After the Rain, the Lewis Carroll Shelf Award for Dear Bill, Remember Me?, and the Edgar Award for Taking Terri Mueller. Mazer was also honored with a National Book Award nomination for A Figure of Speech and inclusion in the notable-book lists of the American Library Association and the New York Times, among others.
Read an Excerpt
Out of Control
By Norma Fox Mazer
OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA
Copyright © 1993 Norma Fox MazerAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4976-7088-4
CHAPTER 1
Rollo is sitting outside school with his friends, finishing his lunch. It's one of those early December days that are cold, but sunny enough so you can sit on the stone steps and not freeze your ass. The sun on Rollo's face is great. He ignores the off-and-on throbbing in his elbow. He's getting really relaxed. No pressure, no tension, just letting go, getting really, really relaxed.
He takes a bite of his sandwich. It's so perfect sitting with his friends like this. He sees them in his mind like a picture. THREE FRIENDS TOGETHER. The big wide one in the middle, loose-limbed smooth old Candy on one side, and Brig, all wires and springs, on the other side. Sometimes, the best times, like now, Rollo has this pure, certain feeling that the three of them belong together and that they'll always be together.
He leans back on his elbows, then jerks upward. He can't put pressure on his right elbow. Feels like little knives cutting up a steak. From September until Thanksgiving, when football ends, and even after for a while, he always aches and throbs someplace in his body. His ribs are still sore from Brady, that ox from Boonville, butting him. The last game, and Brady sure wanted to smash him, but Brady was the one who went down, with Rollo on top of him and Scipio slipping through with the ball.
Last week, Coach gave them his end-of-the-season speech. "I want you men to stay in shape the rest of the year. We had a decent season, not a great season, but nothing to be ashamed of. We did our best, we gave it our all, that's what counts." He made them hold hands and yell, "We did our best, we gave it our all!"
Then he went around grabbing each player by the shoulder and telling him all his excellent points and how he should work out through the winter and spring and have strong mental thoughts about playing next year. He gave each one a hug and a big slap on the back.
When he came to Rollo, he gave him the slap on the back, but not the hug. "Wingate, you disturb me," Coach said. "You should be better than you are." His face was puckered up: he looked like his teeth hurt. "Something's missing, Wingate. What is it?" Coach tapped Rollo's chest. "A four-letter word, begins with T, and a six-letter word, begins with S. I'll give you a hint. The four-letter word is team." Coach's face was right up against Rollo's.
Rollo stood straight, his shoulders back, his neck rigid, like a marine in one of those movies where the sergeant is yelling at the recruit, and the recruit is not supposed to show any feelings, only yell out, "Yes, SIR! ... No, SIR!" Rollo wished he could just tell Coach the truth.
"The six-letter word ends with T," Coach went on. "I'll give you some of the other letters, because this is a tough question. S. P. Blank. R. Blank. T."
Everyone was listening. A lot of the guys were laughing. Coach waited, and Rollo had to say it, feeling like a damn fool. "Team spirit."
"Right! And I don't think you have it."
"Uh, I do," Rollo lied. "I do. Really." He said it to make Coach feel better. It wasn't Coach's fault the way Rollo was. Coach had done everything a coach should do. He'd screamed at Rollo, he'd pushed him, he'd called him names, he'd whacked him across the side of the head, he'd even appealed to him.
But Rollo still lacks team spirit, still doesn't like football. He doesn't know why. He doesn't understand why he's this way, when other kids would give anything to be on the team, in his shoes. Maybe it's the same way he doesn't like clams or listening to his father's music. Matter of taste.
"Let Rollo decide," Candy is saying. "Yes or no, Rollo?"
What's he supposed to decide? He hasn't been listening. "Whatever," he says and shifts on the cement steps, sucking in the fresh cold air. God, he feels happy. Football is over. He is free as a bird. Nobody telling him to do anything. Nobody on his case. Nothing to think about.
"Hey, Rollo," a kid says, coming up the steps. He gives Rollo a big, hero-worshipping smile. "Rollo, man!"
"Yeah, hi," Rollo says. There are always kids around like that, looking at you like you're something special because you're on the team. The kid gives Rollo a kick in the ribs as he passes, like he thinks Rollo is made of stone.
Candy and Brig laugh. "Rollo, man!" Brig says. "That kid's in love with you. You return the feeling?"
"Shut your nasty mouth, Briggers."
"Get off your oversize ass, Wingate, and make me."
They slap hands.
"When do you guys think my brother did it the first time?" Brig says.
"Knowing your big brother, when he was in diapers," Candy says.
"Close. He was thirteen."
"Says who?" Candy sounds cool, but Rollo notices that his freckles get bright. Whatever Candy does, playing basketball or leading an assembly, he makes it look easy, but sometimes those freckles give him away.
"What about you and Arica?" Candy says to Brig.
"What about us? Eat your heart out."
Rollo wonders if it's true, or ... Probably it is. Brig and Arica. Sure. By now ... He watches Denise Dixon crossing the bare, half-frozen lawn. Now, there is something perfect. She's wearing a green sweater, down vest, and black pants. Blond hair, pink cheeks, tiny waist. You just want to put your hands around that waist and squeeze.
Rollo is sure Denise Dixon is the kind of girl you could talk to, and she would listen and make it easy for you to say things. She sits behind him in Mr. Maddox's class. Sometimes Rollo feels Denise Dixon's breath on the back of his neck and senses her pretty legs behind him, and then everything fades away—Mr. Maddox's voice becomes a faint drone, the classroom is gone, everything is gone, Rollo is gone....
They have never talked. She's one of the smart girls, one of the beautiful, perfect girls you can just look at and think about in private. Sometimes a girl will glance at him in the hall and say, "Hiii, Rollo. How are yooou?" But not Denise Dixon. That's okay, because if she did talk to him, what would he say?
"I might go out with her," Candy says, pointing with his chin.
"Who?" Brig asks.
"Denise Dixon."
"You're going out with Denise Dixon?" Brig whistles. "When?"
Candy rubs his chin. "When? When I decide to."
Brig sits back. "You putz."
"Got you that time, Briggers." Candy slaps hands with Rollo.
"You need help, Candrella," Brig says, "serious help. I'm going to have to fix you up."
"The hell you will," Candy says, but he leans forward.
"Yeah, I'm going to do it. I'll ask Arica to recommend someone for a desperate guy. No, wait." Brig's head swivels. "I have a better idea. You should go out with her."
They all watch a tall girl crossing the street. She's wearing a long coat, men's work boots, and a gray fedora with a big droopy feather in the brim.
"I'll go out with her if I can keep my eyes closed," Candy says.
They laugh and Brig punches Rollo lazily. "Candy's an amusing cuss," he says.
Valerie Michon clumps up the wide cement walk toward them. They are sprawled out over the steps like it's home and they aren't inviting anyone to enter. They have left a narrow aisle at one end, but as Valerie approaches, Brig shifts and spreads out, so he takes up that space, too.
She stops at the bottom of the steps. "Are you going to move?"
"Why?" Brig spreads out a little bit more.
Rollo and Candy look at each other, smiling.
"I want to go in the building," she says.
"So go."
She walks up the steps, straight up, as if Brig doesn't exist, not trying to get around him or by him, and she steps on his hand, which is in her way, steps right on it with her big, workbooted foot. Brig swears and, quick as lightning, smacks her on the leg.
She jumps like a chicken. She squawks and snatches off her hat as if she's going to beat him up with it. Brig cowers in mock fear, her face goes red, and the three of them are laughing and laughing as she goes into the building.
CHAPTER 2At the first rumble of thunder, Kara, who's been in the kitchen baking cookies, is out of there and into the front hall closet. "I'm scared I'm scared," she cries. "Rollo, Rollo!"
"It's okay, I'm here," he says, coming in from the living room. "I'm right here, you can come out. Are you coming out?"
"Noooo."
He sits down on the floor near the closet. This is going to take a while. It always does. "Kara ... are you listening to me?"
There's an acknowledging sob from inside the closet.
"Kara, I have a joke for you."
The windows light up. Thunder rattles every pane in the house, and Rollo's belly jumps. Close strike.
"Are you scared?" Kara cries. "Rollo! Are you very scared?"
"Of course not," he lies.
He looks up at the round stained-glass window over the front door, daisies entwined with lilies. There is something soothing about it, something about it that always makes him think of his mother. She would have liked that window, she would have liked this house.
The first time his father brought them here, Kara had shouted, "Nice house! I love it! Nice house, Daddy!" But Rollo, looking into each empty echoing room, had realized with a pang that moving to Highbridge from the city meant leaving behind the place where his mother had lived with them. Everything about Highbridge had seemed strange and lonely until he met Brig and Candy.
"Kara," he says, "are you listening? Here's the joke. Do you know how to catch a special rabbit?"
"What is a special rabbit?"
"Kara, you're supposed to say, How?"
"How?"
"Unique up on it."
"Whaaat?"
"Unique means 'special.'" He waits. "And it sounds like 'you sneak.'"
"What?"
"Let's try the second part of the joke. Do you know how to catch a tame rabbit? Now you have to say—"
"How?" she cries triumphantly.
"Tame way. Unique up on it."
There is silence from the closet, then Kara says, "Is that a funny joke, Rollo?"
"Not very," he admits. The rumbling in the sky seems to have swung away to the north.
"Rollo. Tell me the story when you were hit by lightning." She pronounces it like three separate words. Light. En. Ing.
"Kara, you always cry when I tell you that. We don't have to talk about it. I'm safe and sound, I'm right here, and I can never be hit again."
"I know, I know! Because lightning doesn't strike two times," she says. "When is the thunder going away?"
"Now. I can hardly hear it anymore. It's raining, that's all. Come on out now." He doesn't want their father to come home from work and find her in the closet. "Come on, honey," he coaxes. "Come out."
The door opens a crack, and Kara appears, scrunched down, arms wrapped around legs. She duck-walks to him.
"Why are you doing that?" he says.
"I'm being super-safe. Closer to the ground is safer." She sits down and leans her head against his arm. "Tell me about being hit by lightning."
"I've told you so many times, Kara."
"How many times?"
"I don't know. Ten. Twenty. A million."
"A million! That's funny!" She laughs and thumps her head against his shoulder. "That's funnier than rabbit jokes! A million times! I love you, my funny brother, and I love Daddy. And I love your friends, and I love my friends."
"I know, you love everybody."
"Yes," she says with satisfaction.
"Aren't you hungry? I'm starved. Let's go get something to eat. Those cookies smell great."
"I never eat when it's thunder and light. En. Ing. It's a rule. It's a good rule I made up."
"For once, you could break your rule."
"Tell me the story first," she says cannily.
Rollo gives in. "Mom and I were on the porch," he begins.
"You were little."
"Right. I was sitting in her lap—"
"No. You have to say you were little first."
"I was little first."
"No, Rollo! Say it right. Say the story right."
"Is that the phone I hear?" He puts his hand to his ear. She loves answering the phone.
"No, stupid, it's not even ringing."
"Are you sure? I think Maureen said she wants to eat supper with us. Maybe she's calling."
"Maureen! Oh, no! Now I have to fix up the dining room," Kara moans.
The only time they eat in the dining room is when Maureen, their father's girlfriend, comes for supper, which is practically never, since she thinks they are a bunch of slobs. They aren't that bad. It's just that she once caught the three of them eating spaghetti from a common pot, and she's never forgotten it.
"Oh, what a day." Kara clutches her head. "First lightning and now Maureen. I have so many things to think about."
Rollo takes pity on her. "I'm wrong, Kara, I got mixed up. Maureen's not coming today."
"Anyway, you can't answer phones in storms," Kara says, "it's a rule. Don't sit by windows, it's a rule. Don't put on TVs, it's a rule. Outside, stay—"
"All right, enough rules. I got it."
"—low to the ground, it's a rule. Don't sit on—"
"I'm telling you the lightning story," Rollo says. "Do you want me to tell it or not?" Anything is better than listening to Kara going on about her rules. "I was little and there was a storm with thunder and lightning. Mom and I were watching from—"
"You shouldn't have been outside," Kara interrupts. "It's dangerous."
"Mom thought we were safe on the porch."
"We had a big porch then. I remember."
"Right. It was the house Dad and Mom rented for the summer on the lake. You were sleeping, taking a nap. Mom and I were on the porch, sitting in a metal chair—"
"You were just a little teeny three years old."
He nods. "So the lightning hit the ground near us and surged to the porch."
"Surged to the porch!" she moans.
"Kara, it just means it traveled."
"It traveled on its lightning feet! It ran to the porch and it got my little brother and my mommy!" Her face fills.
"Come on, it's only a story. It's all over, it was a long time ago. I'm not going to tell you if you cry."
"I won't! But I can't help it too much. My poor little Rollie. What did you feel like?" she begs him.
"Poor little Rollie felt like you do when your hands are wet and you touch something electric."
"Zzzzz," she says, grinding her teeth. "Zzzzzzz!"
"Only I felt it all through my body. Zzzzz zzzzz everywhere."
"Ugh!" she cries. "And what about Mommy? You didn't tell me that part again."
"Mom got knocked unconscious for a few minutes. It was worse for her than me, because she was in direct contact with the metal. I was in her lap, so I was mostly protected."
"Yes," Kara says, "it was worse for her. Then what?"
"Well, then she came to, and Dad came home and she told him about it, and he said, 'Oh, my goodness, I'm so upset, I feel so bad, where's my Kara, is she all right?'"
This is the part of the story Kara really likes. "He was worried about me. He was so worried about me."
"But you were safe, taking a nap." Rollo tries to wind up the story quickly. "And it never happened again, and we all got smart and we don't ever sit in metal chairs on porches when there are storms. Let's go fix something for supper."
Suddenly Kara farts. "Oops," she says.
"Kara, that was gross. Remember what Dad told you?"
"I know, I know! I'm supposed to go out of the room, but it just jumped out and surprised me." She giggles. "Excuse me, that was rude. Are you mad? Don't be mad at me."
"I'm not mad at you," he says, holding his nose.
She giggles again and hugs his arm. The storm has really passed by now, and in a few minutes they go into the kitchen and start working on supper together. "I'm a good worker," Kara says, slicing a tomato carefully. "Mrs. Rosten said, 'Kara, you are a good worker. You clean the tables so good. Kara, it's a pleasure to see you, you always have a smile on your face.'" She smiles to show him. "Mrs. Rosten is my social worker. Did you remember that, Rollo?"
"Yes."
"Can I make some tea with sugar?"
"I guess so."
"Oh, good! Thanks!" She puts on the kettle, then stands staring out the rain-smeared window, her thumb in her mouth, her finger absently rubbing her nose. His sister. His big sister, born ten years before him. He had passed her when he was six years old. Ever since, he's been getting older, but Kara has stayed pretty much the same age.
CHAPTER 3Rollo stares at Sara Hendley—fluffy blond hair, big big blue eyes. She is one of the girls who sometimes says hello to him in the hall.
"She's gonna get all red," Brig predicts.
Candy disagrees. "I've seen her in class, she's cool."
They are in the cafeteria, sitting at their table, the one they staked out for themselves at the beginning of the semester. They are leaning back, sipping sodas, and looking at girls. Behind them, the high windows are streaked with a cold gray rain.
"Red face, big time," Brig says firmly. "Rollo?"
"Uh, maybe she'll twirl her hair," he suggests.
Candy laughs and says he'll go with that. But then Sara Hendley looks up, sees them staring at her, and turns bright red. So Brig wins that round.
It's a game. They choose a girl, then guess what she'll do when she becomes aware of their staring. Sometimes the girl drops something—her napkin, her purse, her fork. Sometimes she gets very animated and starts talking really fast to her friends. Sometimes she tries to pretend she doesn't know they are staring, but they can always tell—she knows. They always get some reaction.
They take turns picking the girl. After Sara Hendley, it's Rollo's turn to pick one. He rubs his elbow where it's sore and glances around the cafeteria. His gaze lingers for a moment on Denise Dixon. No. He squirms a little on his seat. He would never suggest her for the game.
"Well, who?" Brig elbows him. "Don't fall asleep on us."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Out of Control by Norma Fox Mazer. Copyright © 1993 Norma Fox Mazer. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
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